


Late

by Ack_Emma



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caterer Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Magician Aziraphale (Good Omens), Missing Scene, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Runaway thoughts, Thirsty Aziraphale (Good Omens), warlock's birthday party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25459201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ack_Emma/pseuds/Ack_Emma
Summary: Aziraphale thinks "caterer" is a good look on Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 44





	Late

White.

The jacket was _white_.

Over the years, Aziraphale had had plenty of practice in putting aside his admiration* of Crowley's beauty to focus on the task at hand. 

(*) In moments when he wasn't putting it aside he was merely _appreciating_ Crowley's loveliness and was most assuredly not, as someone uncouth once quipped, eye-banging him.

Darting glances or outright gazing, these things happened only when Crowley's back was turned, and when the time came to concentrate on the job Aziraphale was always able to pull himself together*. 

(*) If he was sometimes slow to respond to questions or seemed distracted, well, he did have a lot on his mind. 

Millennia of experience, however, was failing in the face of Crowley dressed as one of the catering staff at Warlock's birthday party. Aziraphale so rarely saw Crowley in anything but dark colours, and the novelty and subversiveness of seeing him in light colours (Heaven's colours, very nearly _Aziraphale's colours_ ) stirred possessiveness and a heightened sense of forbiddenness to rampage through him. 

And then there was the aesthetic. The gleaming white of the uniform jacket and button-down made the demon's skin look deliciously warm and inviting. He had snapped himself into a Crowley-fied version of the outfit, the jacket cut shorter to show off his slim hips and the trousers so tight you could see the outline of his pockets through the fabric. The white on top made Crowley's shockingly red hair stand out even more, its length just a smidge too long and the forelock curling over, rakish and devastating.

So Aziraphale stared and stared, the close-fitting uniform emphasizing the long lines of Crowley's lean frame. The angel was in need of more practice performing his magic act and they were here to intercept the Hellhound, but he couldn't stop thinking about the fine figure Crowley cut in that get up and how the lapels on that jacket looked perfect for grabbing to press him against a wall so Aziraphale could kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

Luckily, Crowley was staying on task, repeatedly checking his absurdly complicated watch and muttering that it would be "show time" in a few minutes. Raising his head to look around, Crowley turned halfway and a sharp angle caught Aziraphale's attention.

Jammed into the front right pocket of those tight trousers was a small rectangle, causing the fabric to jut out the side and rather ruining the lines of the outfit. Crowley was always particular about his clothes and the image they projected, what was so important to carry around right now that he'd sacrifice the look of his ensemble?

A rectangle was a commonplace enough form but there was something about the size of it that gave Aziraphale pause. The material of the trousers stretched tight around it, he could see it had curved edges and rounded corners. His mind alighted on a suggestion of what the shape might be and suddenly, like being impaled by sharp and determined fangs, the thought would not let go of him. The idea was so shocking and unexpected that he rocked back a step.

Why, Aziraphale wondered wildly, was Crowley carrying a ring box in his pocket?*

(*) Angelic though he was, Aziraphale had been on Earth long enough to have internalized some human customs and had secretly entertained that particular fantasy one or two** times.  
(**) million

What was going on? A peculiar feeling started to make itself known on Aziraphale's left side. A nervous fluttering, growing faster and stronger, around his chest. 

Events were happening so fast. Crowley's insistence they work together to stop Armageddon. Together. Crowley's determination they save the Earth. _Their home._ A clawing sensation began in Aziraphale's breast, persistent and increasingly forceful. A ring box. Carried around by Crowley while he was working with Aziraphale. _A ring box._

Here, before the literal end of the world, was Crowley going to reach across that longstanding gulf between them, would he grasp Aziraphale's hand, were they going to come together and -

Squirming in his suddenly ill-fitting magician's suit, Aziraphale tried to suppress his escalating discomfiture but a small, strangled noise escaped his throat. 

Finally noticing how worked up Aziraphale had gotten, Crowley turned back and regarded him oddly. "Everything all right there, Angel?"

"Quite!" Aziraphale squeaked. Overcome with equal parts excitement, elation, and alarm*, his corporation felt in full-out riot. A love-struck idiot spiralling out of control.

(*) This being Aziraphale, it was probably closer to 25/25/50.

Fighting to regain composure, Aziraphale raised a panicked right hand to his chest to try to calm the frantic and out-of-control buffeting threatening to overwhelm him. He clutched a handful of overheated flesh, doubled over - 

\- and pulled out the dove, thrashing and flapping frenetically to escape his sleeve.

Eyebrows raised slightly, Crowley turned away and resumed surveying the scene. "You'd be better off hiding that somewhere else."

Flooded with grateful relief for the plausible deniability, Aziraphale calmed himself while setting to soothe the previously-trapped bird, smoothing its ruffled feathers with gentle strokes. The distraction broke the train of his runaway thoughts* and brought him back to the needs of the moment.

(*) After all, it was best not to speculate.

"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale murmured to the dove, and gave it a small blessing. Its service to him had certainly earned it some angelic favour. And doves were a good omen. 

Aziraphale suddenly felt sure that things would turn out well for all involved today.

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to title this "Comes From Putting It Up Your Sleeve" but it felt like too much of a spoiler!
> 
> If you look at stills from the TV show, Crowley does have a funny bump around his right pocket at Warlock's party! Somewhere in the past year I read a fic positing that the bump is actually an engagement ring for Aziraphale that Crowley carries everywhere and I loved the idea. (I looked for the fic so I could credit it but I couldn't find it. I've read A LOT of fics in the past year and unfortunately I don't remember the title or author. If you know which one I'm talking about please point me to it!)


End file.
